We're Alright
by Lasso the Moon
Summary: Late Summer, 1923. Mary sends a letter and receives an unexpected visitor.


**Thanks volcanique for the idea!**

"Mr. Napier?" Mary managed to recover quickly enough, since James was still there, but a great deal of shock was still registered on her face. Funny how just the man she had been thinking of, whom she had sent a letter to just that morning, had a way of showing up just when she wanted so much to see him.

"Lady Mary." He took off his hat and inclined his head as he stepped inside. It had been a year since she had seen him last—and he looked tired, careworn, but still retaining that earnestness that she had so admired in him, although it had taken her a bit of time to admit. There were flecks of grey in his coffee hair—the strains of being a lord, perhaps. Her father often talked about him when he came home from Parliament, of how involved he was ( unlike the past Viscount Branksome who lived and died in that lonely manor after his wife passed ) of how eloquent he seemed, of how passionate he was whenever he spoke. And she had imagined him, arguing, speaking so expressively—as he had been a diplomat once—swaying the other lords to his side. She had felt guilty about it at first, as well as confused—for this was _Evelyn _who wouldn't pipe down about the races in the old days, who stuttered whenever he spoke to her, who had become quieter, more introspective than he had already been after 1914. This was Evelyn who didn't say a word about the affair with Kemal, who the women at Rose's ball insinuated was still in love with some 'foolish woman' that had turned him down before the war. Evelyn whom she had never seen properly and when she _ did_, felt guilty for seeing him that way.

But not anymore.

A life of solitude, of unhappiness, isn't what Matthew would have wanted—and she hoped that wherever he was, he was assured that she wouldn't live in the past any longer.

"I had some business in York, and I was driving past—and I figured I should say hello." He massaged his hands restlessly as he spoke—something she had noticed the last time he was here. Was it only with her that he did this? She couldn't picture him standing in front of his podium in Lords, speaking of war and peace and the future and fiddling like a schoolboy. He was no schoolboy, but she found it endearing nonetheless…and a burst of pride if indeed this was a reaction that only she inspired.

"It's so good of you to drop by—we missed you." I_ missed you_, is what she wanted to say, but even that was too much—too much for her.

"Did you?" His eyes widened at his own words, and glanced at the stoic footman before adding fluidly, "How nice of you to say. I was sad to be away from Downton, but I've been busy in London, and at Grimsby…"

"I can imagine." He had been one of the lucky ones. His father had been shrewd—or had a shrewd man of business—and the family fortune had remained intact, as well as the lands he had inherited. She wondered also how much of his success had to do with his former occupation. Charles had said Evelyn had quit not long after their visit, saying that he wanted to be closer to his father. She knew that they had fallen out over her, but she also knew that Evelyn would have never told Charles that. He had no reason to feel threatened by him—for although the bureaucrat was keen on her, she had told him for the last time that the feeling was not mutual. That had been three months ago. Tony had taken her dismissal surprisingly well, and had thanked her—'for showing me how to be happy'—and had just gotten engaged. This time he had brought his fiancée—a Lady Madeline Forsythe—to a dinner party at Downton, and the pair were absolute glowing.

She had realized, in turn, how much she desperately wanted to be happy—not with him, but with this enduring, selfless, wonderful man who in spite of everything still loved her, even now in this moment. "Would you stay for tea?"

"As long as I'm not a nuisance." he quipped with a dimpled half-smile, which proved to be contagious as it summoned a grin of her own.

"You were never a nuisance. James?"

"Yes, milady."

She nodded at Evelyn and he fell into step beside her as they moved to the library. "How are you?" he asked, breaking the silence, his eyes shifting to hers.

"Well, thank you. In fact, better than I have been in a long time."

There was a smile at this—but not dimpled, faltering…dear me, did he think—? "I'm glad to hear of it. Really. I w—"

"Goodness, it's not anything like that, honestly, Evelyn." She laughed, and his face contorted in confusion, which only made her chuckle more. "I just meant that I'm…well, let's say back in the land of the living."

"Ah." A cherry blush colored his cheeks and she smiled at the boyishness of the occurrence, shaking her head and sitting on one of the couches. He sat on the opposite end, placing his hat in his lap and toying with the brim.

"And you?" she asked softly, tilting her head to seek his eyes.

He lifted them from the hat and smiled at the question. "I've no reason to complain. It's nice to have something to do."

She knew that he was still in shock because of his father's death—the rest of his immediate family was long gone, so he was very much alone. "And you're well?"

"I am." he answered with a nod, his hands playing with the brim again. "How's George?"

She was surprised at the question, but understanding came when she realized that he was concerned with what was important to her—the most important thing to her being her son and his legacy. "Walking now—it's a blessing and a curse. Nanny doesn't really have to carry him but pretty soon he'll be too fast for her." He laughed at this, and she realized how seldom she had heard him laugh since he returned from France.

"Really, I hope it doesn't dissuade her too much—she's the third we've gone through."

"I'm sure it won't. He's a charming little chap." He had said the same when he had held him while he and Charles were staying there last summer. Charles had been out at another estate, Evelyn was finishing his end of the report and found mother and son in the library. They had got to talking about something or other, and he had picked him up—and George hadn't cried.

"How are things at Grimsby?"

"Very good, I'm thinking about putting up a factory nearby. It'd do wonders for the town, and give us more capital to put into the estate. We're thinking about automobile parts…and maybe if we're successful, automobiles themselves…oh, God, I'm sorry." He gauged her reaction and shook his head. "That was stupid of me, I didn't think…"

"No, no, it's alright." For the longest time cars and everything about them had had a negative effect on her. In the early days she had refused to leave the house because of them. She had gotten edgy whenever she needed to use one—because a car had taken him away from her—but now…now it was alright. _She _was alright. "Really." she insisted, laying her hand over the one that was still fiddling with the brim of that stupid hat.

He almost jumped at the contact and he turned his eyes upon her again. He didn't say anything—and he didn't need to—because she understood every word. _Really?_ _Yes_. _Me? Of course. After all this time? I'm sorry it wasn't sooner. Can I? Please. _

His eyes lifted from her lips and met hers again, then simultaneously they closed the distance between their bodies, their lips clashing as he emitted a heavy sigh of relief, because _finally_, and she smiled against his lips, because _finally_, her life had begun again. His arms enfolded her, warm and strong and steady—like him—and her hand drifted into the soft hair she'd come to love, just like everything else about him that she had been blind to for a decade.

Jimmy found the door open and the pair kissing like there was no tomorrow on the couch, and caught off guard, left the tea tray on a table near the door as quietly as he could before backing out of the room. "Dammit, Mr. Barrow." He owed him six quid and a drink at the pub.


End file.
